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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942965">Monsters in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSongSmith/pseuds/TheSongSmith'>TheSongSmith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Even though he's grumpy about it, Gen, Gentle Sam Winchester, Little Spoon Dean Winchester, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Protective Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:22:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSongSmith/pseuds/TheSongSmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the light of day, Dean would shrug him off, insist he was fine, and that he didn't need help. But here, in the dark, with sleep still blurring the edges of reality, they could fight together.</p><p> </p><p>Or, Dean needs a goddamn hug once in a while, even if he's a grumpy butthole about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Monsters in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was the mumbling that woke him, the words half-choked and desperate. Sam turned over in his tiny twin bed, squinting at its copy in the dim light coming through the motel’s small, dusty window. Dean was on his side, facing away from him, but Sam could tell by his posture, even without seeing his face, that he was in the throws of a nightmare. Body strung tight, he braced against an invisible threat, half-coherent sentences floating up into reality. Sometimes Sam could tell, just by his tone, or the snippets of words he could understand, what the dreams were about. Dean had always had them, as long as Sam could remember, but over the years they’d changed. Where once he’d dreamt of heat and flames, and eyes glowing out from the dark, his mind had much more to choose from now. Sometimes he’d argue with Alistair, and other nights he called out for Sam, or for Cas, or, occasionally, for Mom. Tonight, though, Sam would bet it was a hell dream, with the way his tone leaned more toward whimper than anger. He’d never discussed it, of course, but Sam had gleaned from his unconscious mumbling that not everything they’d done to him had caused physical pain; he’d guess, from the number of times it popped up in his dreams, that the mental anguish had been worse. As much as Sam wished Dean would just talk to him about these things, he supposed he should be grateful that there was at least one way he could help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The routine was familiar by now, removing the bowie from under Dean’s pillow and placing it out of reach, remembering with an odd sort of nostalgia the time he’d forgotten that crucial step. It was a delicate balance to lower himself onto Dean’s bed slowly enough not to startle him, but quickly enough that he didn’t let Dean suffer any longer than necessary. Taking a deep breath, Sam moved in a fluid, well-practiced motion, wrapping his arms around his brother’s chest and pulling him back against him while he pressed one leg over Dean’s to prevent him from kicking as he surfaced from his nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean woke with a gasp and a flail, his immediate instinct to fight the hold and reach for the blade Sam had removed from the pillow. “You’re safe, Dean. It’s okay.” He froze at the murmur, pausing to notice the ugly yellow wallpaper in front of him as his chest heaved, realizing that the arms around him weren’t attempting to hurt him, only tight enough to pin his arms to his chest and keep him from striking out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I gotcha, you’re okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started struggling again, though weaker now, and Sam almost smiled at the way he was already relaxing, in small increments. He knew the struggle now was mostly for show, and that Dean would give in and let him help if he just stayed. “Get off,” Dean mumbled anyway, as if he thought the words might be more convincing than the way he was leaning back into Sam’s hold. “Go ‘way...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sam murmured, readjusting his grip now that he could be reasonably sure he wouldn’t catch a sharp elbow to the ribs. He released Dean’s legs, the arm on top slipping under Dean’s own arm to rest flat against his chest as Sam pressed up tighter behind him, frowning at the rattle he could feel in his brother’s still-tense breaths. “Breathe,” he said firmly, focusing on making his own breaths slow and exaggerated against Dean’s back. Dean grumbled, giving the occasional weak tug against him, but his breaths fell into rhythm with Sam’s anyway, the tension slowly leaking out of him as his muscles relaxed, one section at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’r annoying,” Dean mumbled after a few long minutes filled only with the sound of their breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam peeked over his shoulder, smiling at the way Dean was blinking hard, trying to fight the pull of sleep. “Close your eyes,” he said, loosening his hold, but not removing his arms from around Dean’s chest. “I’ll be right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean huffed out a long-suffering sigh, but made no further effort to remove himself from Sam’s grip. “Bossy...” he grumbled, but he still listened, his eyes slowly drifting closed. It was only a few minutes before he sagged into unconsciousness, and Sam smiled to himself. He waited a while, until he was sure Dean was sleeping peacefully, before carefully extracting himself from the bed. Gently, he returned the knife to its designated spot before retreating to his own too-small mattress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean will never, ever mention these nights in the light of day, Sam’s sure. But at least he knows that here, in the dark, Dean doesn’t have to face the monsters alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a random oneshot I had floating around in my head. If you liked it, be sure to leave me a little note down below! :)</p><p>Also come chat with me over at thesongsmithtumbles.tumblr.com , I promise I'm really nice!</p><p>Love,<br/>TheSongSmith</p></blockquote></div></div>
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